Short Stories for Trigun
by JasperK
Summary: A miscellany of Trigun adventures featuring various characters: Milly, Meryl, Vash, Wolfwood etc These are short chapters complete unto themselves. No continuous story here – just Trigun Wanderings. Enjoy
1. Chapter 1: (Me,Mi) Meeting

_**These are a selection of short stories**_

 _ **\- a miscellany of Trigun adventures featuring various characters:**_

 _ **Milly, Meryl, Vash, Wolfwood etc**_

 _ **These are short chapters complete unto themselves,**_

 _ **no continuous story here – just Trigun Wanderings. Enjoy**_

* * *

 **How Meryl Met Milly**

(Spoilers for Ep 1 Anime)

It was a job. No, that was not entirely the truth. It was an obsession. Meryl had encountered the name 'Vash the Stampede' in her teenage years. She had almost dismissed him for the melodrama her friends layered over him, but the fact that no one ever managed to take a picture of the man intrigued her. At least on some of the larger bounties, there were sketches done by those who had seen the felons. Yet, he remained a mystery, with only legend and rumour as a guide. She disliked the romance that followed such a figure, but the incongruities drew her. It irked her ordered mind that he did not quite fit. Something was off about him, and before she knew it, she discovered she had become more obsessed than her dreaming friends were. They had wanted a kiss from an outlaw; she had wanted to catch him.

When things had fallen apart at home, she had ended up at her uncle's house. It had been inevitable, she considered with bitter recollection. He'd taken her aside when she had been only twelve and suggested she learn to use a gun. She had been horrified and delighted at the suggestion. The scraps she got into at school because of her blunt nature had alerted him to the fact that she was a fighter. The way she came home with burns on her face and strange cuts on her legs had alerted him to the fact that she was being bullied. He'd been horrified at what she had done to the bully that had tried to intimidate her, though he kept it secret that he knew that the boy hung by his ankles from the school roof with his head tied in his shirt was her doing. He had suggested she learn to defend herself, should any man come after her.

She had encountered the legend of Vash the Stampede two years later. It had spurred her on to practice with her derringers until she could pull all fifty in less than a minute. She would have the elusive outlaw before he knew what had hit him. She had wanted to be a bounty hunter, until a boy at school had laughed at her for airing the suggestion and had mocked her about her height. She'd hit him with her school bag.

Then she had wanted to become a Marshal, until the day she had witnessed the execution. A unit of Feds had come to the town, and with them had ridden a Marshal. She had followed him around obsessively, until he had noticed. He had been enamoured of her interest, and she, a short skinny fifteen year old, had enough sense to be cautious, but without the experience to know how, or why. The Marshal had returned to town, trailing a man with his hands chained. He was an outlaw; he had a photograph on a poster, declaring him guilty of pillage, arson, murder and many other misdeeds. People had been grimly excited, and had gathered in the square to hear his sentence. She had wriggled her way through to the front of the crowd to watch the Marshal in his glorious moment. Until he had raised his gun and shot the man in the head. The crowd went away satisfied. She had staggered away disorientated. She had not gone home, nor to her second home of the shooting range, or to her hideout among the ruins on the outskirts of the city. She had climbed the highest building in the city so that she could see the skies. She needed a moment where she could contemplate the world without people in it. She had been so sickened by it all. She did not want to be a Marshal now. But that very week she had to fill in the assessment papers so that she could choose her streamed subjects for the following year. All she knew was that she did not want to be a Marshal, and that did not help, nor a bounty hunter if that was the ultimate end of the chase.

She watched the moons rise, and waited until she was shivering with cold and the fifth moon had completely risen before returning home. She would find a job that allowed her to travel. All she knew was that she suddenly wanted to see more of this world than the city. Perhaps there would be answers out there.

She hunted through the pamphlets that lay on the table. Other people in her year were gunning after those which paid the most (a lawyer or a specialist doctor or a plant engineer) or were more in tune with their natural interest. Her uncle let her peruse them when the bar was quiet, but she was expected to earn her wage as a waitress if she wanted him to keep paying her school fees. The bar had been a good teacher, she lost her fear of silly boys when she realised men were no less silly, and most only needed a well aimed scowl to remember to keep their hands to themselves. It had been a day of triumph when she had realised that the scowl that tamed the bar patrons worked on the idiots at school.

That weekend, before the choosing, she had been serving at the bar while her uncle was taking a delivery. Two men had marched in, guns raised and had demanded cash. Life before mammon was her uncle's mantra in such a situation, so she handed the contents of the register over. Furiously hating the men, one had turned, laughingly to the bar patrons, and called them cowards, then had left. It had rattled her so much that she almost wanted to be a Marshal again. Then she had found it, a rather austere leaflet about the Bernadelli Insurance Company. It looked to be the usual clerk work, which she could handle well enough were she so inclined, but one line caught her eye. Disaster Management: the management and risk prevention in case of disaster. Dealing with instances of natural, environmental, complex and pandemic disasters. Under 'complex' was listed 'break down of law and order.' Well now. That included the thugs that had just visited, and that elusive outlaw, and her desire to do something positive rather than simple eradication of the threat.

She had taken a vac job at the local paper to try out her hand at report writing, and to join the journalists as they covered the disaster stories. She had discovered, to her astonishment, and theirs, that she was a natural reporter, and had an eye for the pertinent details. They had offered her a post on leaving school. She had declined, and asked them for a reference for Bernadelli.

She was two weeks away from her eighteenth birthday, when she had been walking home from school. She had her application at Bernadelli in her bag and was on her way to their central office, which was on the main street. She had altered her route by ten minutes to take her past the building each day. Today was the day she would dare enter it. A startled scream made her jump. Several school girls dressed in their uniforms fled screaming from a side alley. She hurried over, as more screams came from the alley. She caught sight of three men dragging a girl after them. She was fighting, but not strong enough to get out of their grip.

"Let her go!" Meryl shouted.

There was coarse laughter, and sobs from the girl.

"You wanna play, girly?"

Meryl drew her gun.

"Let her go!" She snapped.

"Ooh, she's got a titchy gun." They fell about laughing.

The girl tried to escape but they threw her against the wall and she slid down the wall, slightly stunned, still trying to fight them off.

Meryl fired a warning shot and one of the men shrieked and ran off. Now there were two. One raised his own revolver and Meryl shot at his hand, he yelled and dropped the revolver, swearing. He too turned and fled. The third picked up the girl in a head lock and fired a shot at Meryl. She felt her heart stop as it buzzed over her head as she ducked. She shot back, catching him in the shoulder, then when he tried to shoot her again, in the arm. He had dropped the girl and had grabbed the revolver in his other hand and had only missed because the girl he had had captive had thrown herself at him. The man turned the gun on the girl. Meryl had raised her arm and shot without thinking. She had to save the life of that girl. The man had slumped on the ground.

She felt terror take over her mind then. She had done what she had sworn never to do. She had shot a man. The girl had stolen his revolver and had run over to her. She did not care who saw her now, she could only cry. Strangers had gathered around, those who had witnessed the fight. She was so disorientated, that she had had to lean on the tall girl she had rescued for help. Later, in the sheriff's office, with her uncle there, and the school teacher who had responsibility for the girls, she had learned that the girl was Milly Thompson, in the city on a school tour. They sat outside the sheriff's office as a case for self defence, and not murder was argued in the office. She took out the much folded leaflet that had belonged to Bernadelli. Would they accept her now?

"What's that?" Milly asked.

"I want to work for them, in disaster management." She handed over the paper.

Milly's eyes went wide.

"That's perfect! You were so brave back there!"

Meryl stared.

Milly paused.

"I'm glad you rescued me. I've spent all my money, I've only got pudding left. Here."

Meryl took the pudding, even more startled.

"It's a reward!" Milly smiled. "It tastes good!"

Meryl sat eating the pudding while Milly read the leaflet. Her uncle emerged, as did Milly's teacher. Both looked much happier.

"This will have to be put before a court, because of the death, but the sheriff is sure that an amicable outcome will be reached." Her uncle said. "Let's go."

She saw Milly two months later at the court hearing. She was sentenced with a justifiable homicide, and set free. She had bought Milly the largest pudding she could find.

"Did you get into Bernadelli?" Milly asked, excitedly.

"Yes!" Meryl exclaimed. Curiously, the interest surrounding the court case had eased her application. They were impressed that such a small, young girl who could defend herself, wanted to work for them. "I am to start next month!"

Milly grinned and took a large scoop of pudding.

A year and a half passed and Meryl was astonished to see Milly walk into the office.

"Miss Meryl!" She exclaimed. "They finally let me transfer!"

Meryl blinked. She had been expecting an intern from a branch in a rural town, some way east. But she had not expected, in any way or form, Milly Thompson.

"You're the new intern?"

"Yes!" Milly grinned. "I wrote them a whole letter about how I wanted to work with you. They said that was just fine."

Oh. Was that why the boss had decided that she, as the junior member of the team, would take the intern around? Not that being junior meant anything here; her two team mates had a knack for handing her the trickier assignments. She relished it, and took every opportunity to travel.

By the time Meryl turned twenty one, Milly had settled in as one of the team. In fact, she had the nickname Stungun Milly, for her use of the ferocious stun gun she wielded with deceptive ease. Meryl had been practicing with it, and had discovered it was a matter of leverage rather than strength that allowed the tall girl to wield it. Milly's enthusiasm, combined with Meryl's bravery gained them a fine reputation when it came to hunting down the problem cases that they had to deal with in disaster management. The day the boss had called them in, was a day she'd never forget. His desk was crowded with files, Meryl recognised them, she had compiled and catalogued most of them. The three hundred cases (so far) of incidents the company had processed because of Vash the Stampede.

"Ladies, the Agency has a problem."

No, the world had a problem, Meryl thought, and the problem was the Humanoid Typhoon.

"The shareholders have made it clear that we cannot continue to pay out claims for damages caused by the disaster known as Vash the Stampede. We want you two to go after him and try and stop the trouble at its source."

"Mister Vash the Stampede?" Milly whispered her eyes wide. "The one with the $$60 billion on his head?"

Meryl suddenly felt like she was floating. How had heaven seen her and granted her the strange lifelong wish? She glanced at the files on the desk, or more prosaically had the boss noticed her careful paper pursuit of the man?

"You have proved to us time and again, your ability to find the target and to work out a solution. Also, we suspect that the man deliberately hides from people after him. He is partial to the ladies, and I am sorry to put you in this position, but you two would be the only way we could possibly get anywhere near him." He paused for effect. "And we desperately need to get near him. He's costing the company millions in damages each year!"

She glanced at Milly, who was frowning at 'partial to the ladies'.

"If nothing else." The boss continued. "You can verify if the claims blaming Vash the Stampede are true, we've had an increase again in the last year, and we suspect people are beginning to use him as an excuse for negligence on their behalf."

Milly's eyebrows furrowed as she frowned, she hated it when people tried to defraud the company.

Milly nodded then, she knew her friends obsession with the outlaw.

They had to lug the thirty boxes of files out of the boss's office to stack them around their desks. Usually they would have to trawl through every record to build up a profile of their target. Meryl already had this one in her head, and Milly had possibly a better knowledge, as she was the one Meryl had do the retyping when the reports were updated.

"Last report he was in Dankin Town." Meryl said, recalling the satellite broadcast from just yesterday.

"We can be there in a week if we take the sand steamer." Milly said with a smile.

They spent the afternoon clearing their desks and farming their current projects onto the rest of the team. From the chagrin on certain faces, it seemed as though some people were in for some unaccustomed hard work. They left before dawn the next morning.

She had taken the assignment with some trepidation. The man not only had "The Humanoid Typhoon" as a title, with the deeds to match, but he had eluded all capture since the government had posted the reward of $$60 Billion. It made her wonder, how lucky did he have to be to elude capture for so long?

She had only been brave enough to approach the man they had finally tracked down, by offering him a gift. She had chosen doughnuts; somewhere she had heard that he was partial to them. As she had done so, she had noticed another man, also in a red coat tied up against the rock. A prisoner. Well Vash was an outlaw, so he would do illegal things. She wondered what had happened to the young man to have landed himself in such a predicament. He was quite good looking in a slightly dazed sort of way. Concentrate on the job. Perhaps, if negotiations went well, she could ask for the prisoner to be handed over to her.

But negotiations went the very worst way possible. Tied up and forced to dangle from a stone arch, with her partner by her side, she had time to wonder about the inconsistent reporting that accompanied the Humanoid Typhoon. With the confusing performance she and Milly had just witnessed, it was no wonder he had been able to give people the slip. The giant man in red whom they had finally tracked down, could well be the awful man, but how to make him understand they were there on business, and not the business he had in mind? She watched him approach with a mean cunning. Ironically, what had bothered Milly the most about Vash the Stampede was his reputation as a womaniser, and that was the direst threat that faced her in this moment.

She heard a shout, and realised that the cute... agh why had she ever though that? That certainly taught her to judge by appearances, no, the _irritating_ man from earlier had returned. Ooh, he annoyed her. He had stolen the doughnuts, which she had grudgingly forgiven, and he was supposed to be in town warning the people. Why was he where he was not supposed to be? She was shocked when in the mass of gunfire that followed, the rope holding her snapped. Milly helped her wriggle free and they hid, watching the chaos around them. The bounty hunter, Loose Ruth, and the gang boss were both after that man, as if he were Vash the Stampede. For all his gymnastic feats he was so full of nonsense! He didn't seem to take his own life seriously, but yet, somehow, was still not dead. It was as if he were playing an intricate game with them. A game to entertain himself. It was as though he had done this before, and it was his way of making it interesting. She blinked, exactly how many times did one have to gamble with ones life to be bored of it? What was she thinking?

She watched him leap and bound off Descartes's spinning boomerang and flip the switch that dragged it back, incapacitating the man. He then turned to her and Milly and gave them a thumbs up and asked if he had earned their 'payment' of doughnuts and $$10. She stared in disbelief. He wanted praise? Now? After all that performance? All she wanted to do was throw a rock at him. No wonder the Bounty Hunter and the Gang Boss had been after him, he must have seriously got up their noses as well. He gave a sudden wild yell and she watched in disbelief as the man vanished in a cloud of smoke as the explosives went off. The mountainside slipped away and crashed onto the town below. Now she was furious. If he had warned the town, there would have been no one there to be hurt. He wouldn't have interrupted the fight and there would have been no exploding dynamite. Er, they would still be strung up, or worse, raped or dead ... Ooh, she did not know what she wanted to do. She felt like throttling him, even though she knew she owed him her life. Aggh! She looked down at the landslide. No time to be thinking about the stupid man now. That disaster there looked to be a week long detour of hard work before they could return to their Vash hunt.


	2. Chapter 2: (V) Doughnuts

**Doughnuts**

Doughnuts were not a food that kept. They changed in taste, fresh ones were warm and lightly crunchy on the outside and soft inside. Then as the minutes passed the outside became less crunchy, and the warmth faded. And if such bad luck occurred that the doughnuts could not be finished on the day they were bought, there were some stale day olds left for the next day.

Vash contemplated the last doughnut in the box. As a doughnut it was pitiful. As the only breakfast he had, it was heavenly. Odd how his perspective changed with his circumstances.


	3. Chapter 3: (L) Contemplating

**Livio** **contemplating Vash**

(And the mayhem that follows him.)

He stood with his back to the orphanage and gazed out at the moonlight sands. The fifth moon with its peculiar crater was rising, low on the horizon. He sighed, wondering what had happened to the strange man who had marked the moon. Knowing Vash, he was probably dodging bullets in some dusty town away east, and they would hear exaggerated stories about it on the satellite. If the girls were lucky, they'd get a television clip of him doing so. Livio did not know if he wished them well in that regard. It was pandemonium in the orphanage if Vash made an appearance on the television. The older children remembered what he had done for them and would tell very imaginative stories. The younger ones would run around firing finger guns and it would end up in a teary fight over who could be Vash that day. Livio leaned against the cross punisher and tipped his hat to the moon. He wished the man well, and prayed fervently that he managed to stay clear of the girls and their camera this week.


	4. Chapter 4: (V) Move On

**The sense that it was time to move on.**

"Oh, Jacques!"

Vash watched as Analeigh hurried over to her old beau. The passionate reunion was enough to make even the hard bitten dock workers blush. Vash trailed slowly down the gangway off the Steamer. That was him dismissed then. He smiled slightly. It was a comfortable dismissal, as farewells went. She had her mind on other things, and he was no longer needed. It was a good thing, she was strong enough to step out on her own. He looked to the horizon, there were others out there. With a slight smile he walked off into the dusty sunlight.

When Analeigh looked for Vash, she could not find him. He had slipped off, and vanished, as the tales told - or as the more romantic poets put it: disappeared into the sunset.


	5. Chapter 5: (V) Surprise

**A little surprise**

(Manga Spoilers – right after the incident where Vash and Knives part ways permanently)

Vash held still while the girl who had found him bandaged up his arm. Or what remained of his arm. His mind was still reeling after what Knives had done – to the people, and then, shockingly to him.

"You are lucky this cauterised when it was cut, or you would have the worst infection." She sniffed, and wiped at her eyes.

It was so painful, it was all Vash could do to keep his teeth clenched, and now cry out. He fiercly blinked away his tears.

"You don't have to be ashamed of crying." She said. "It's the way your body releases the deepest emotions."

He wiped at his tears again.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you." She smiled, and got to her feet.

Vash watched her go, his fingers going to his cheek where she had kissed him. It was the first time a girl who had not been Rem had ever done so.


	6. Chapter 6: (V) Uncertain Awakening

**Uncertain Awakening**

Vash opened his eyes and blinked dazedly at the ceiling. The rectangle of it which wasn't hidden by curtain was white. He sniffed, the curtains gave it away, but the smell confirmed it. He was in a hospital. He felt shock thrill through him and heard a rapid beeping in response as he tried to sit up. His last memories were of trying to fight off seven thugs while...

"Hey. Hey, young man, calm down!"

A middle aged nurse twitched the curtain aside and glared at him. She was comfortably plump and had dark curly hair tied into a bun on the top of her head. Her name pin said "J. Carroll."

"And lie down, you'll pull your stitches out with all that strain."

He eased himself back, blinking at her. His back throbbed as if he had lain on a coal, but he couldn't lie on his side because that felt worse, and it felt as if someone had drawn a poker across his chest. This was the worst he had felt in years.

Ah yes, he had been fighting. They had knifed him before he had been able to free the hostage, but he had fought on. Then there had been the little matter of the previous wound opening again because he had not allowed enough time for it to heal.

The nurse lifted the sheet and checked his bandages and glared at him.

"See? It's seeping again." She scolded and pointed to fresh red blood on the bandage across his chest. "Now lie still." She returned to a trolley she had left in the middle of the ward.

He lay still feeling awful, from where he lay he could see three other men lying in bed all bandaged up. No one had quite as many chest bandages as he.

"H-hey. Ah, Mrs Carroll, excuse me?" He called and the nurse turned to give him a tired stare. The others in the room were watching him now; the daytime satellite did not supply as much entertainment as a new person in the ward.

"Did they get away?"

The nurse gave him a very blank stare.

"Did who get away?"

"The hostages."

"Who knows?" She shrugged. "The sheriff will send someone over to hear what you have to say, he sent the boy from the morgue yesterday, you're lucky to be alive. I'm surprised you can move at all."

From the pain he was in he was surprised he had even thought of moving when he had woken up. His back felt not only hot and uncomfortable but sticky.

"Er, I think I tore my back stitches." He said in a small voice.

The nurse gave him a long stare.

"I'll get to you, Mister Vash, when I have seen to Mister Saunders here, have patience."

"I have patience." He said and tried to relax. This caused another need to become very prominent.

"Ah, Mrs Carroll, where are the toilets?"

"I'll bring you a bed pan." She said rolling her eyes at him, but moved smartly away from Saunders who was now watching him with a long aggravated stare.

"A bed pan? No! No. No, I can move, my legs work."

"And tear more stitches, Mister Vash?"

"Uuuh." Thinking about it, any movement he made really hurt. If he didn't know better he'd have guessed he had broken a rib, fortunately these injuries had not come with that agony, though some bruises on his ribs were near to making up for it.

Saunders grinned spitefully at him, and he resigned himself to his fate.

He hated being bedridden. He listened to the satellite that was on in the room, but he'd heard these radio plays before some twenty years ago and someone had done a rather shoddy job of abridging them. He had read the newspaper in the morning and now Saunders had it. So he could not even entertain himself by pretending to act stupid when the man tried to talk down to him. Saunders was a physics lecturer at the local college and seemed to amuse himself by boring the others in the ward with his talk of the latest discoveries, usually beginning his tirades with 'of course the likes of you would not understand, but...' Langly and Smith who shared their ward avoided Saunders lectures by either pretending to doze off, or in Smith's case by removing his hearing aid. Vash was too uncomfortable to fake sleep for long. He wanted to try move around, but the one time he had managed to sit up, he had torn his back stitches again, and the agony was not worth it.

The door opened and Mrs Carroll entered with a smile and two other much younger and prettier nurses. Vash smiled.

"Visiting hour in fifteen minutes gentlemen, let's get you looking spritely."

At last!

When the sheriff walked in, followed by two other officials, Vash sighed. The other men had their wives and children, and their families visiting. At least someone came to see him, he mused, even if it was the law.

"Hello, Vash, is it?" The Sheriff looked at the docket he held.

"Yes."

"Interesting name." The Sheriff mused and then held out a hand. "I hear we have to thank you for your bravery."

"Ah..." Vash felt a faint blush creep up on him. What did one say to that? He shook the Sheriff's hand, then clenched his teeth as the man's steady shake sent pain sparking through him. The Sheriff hastily released him wincing in sympathy.

"Sorry. I'm Morton, this is Lukas and Jolson." He introduced the other two. "They're from the Marshal Service. You interrupted a sting operation we were executing, and we owe you a great debt, if you had not been there the hostages and perhaps a great many of our people would be dead."

"I did?" Vash said faintly, he had known about the gang and the hostages, but not about the sting operation.

"We were wondering why you were there at that time?" Lucas said.

"Er," Vash tried to think. "I rented a room when I got here, and the maid who cleans there told me of how the daughter of this wealthy family she cleans for was kidnapped. I investigated and surprised the gang and tried to get the women out. Did they get out?" He asked anxiously. "There were five of them."

"Yes, they did." Sheriff Morton murmured. "Said you took on twelve men all by yourself, and by all accounts are an ace gunman."

Twelve? He hadn't remembered there being that many.

"We brought you your gun and your ammunition." Jolson said and put a box down beside his bed. I know I'd be very unhappy to be parted from my gun were I in your profession."

Profession? What had they assumed that was?

"That reminds me, Vash, the bounty on the Forwin Gang has been split eight ways, you get ten thousand, the bank will hold it in your name until you're ready to withdraw it."

A bounty hunter, they thought him a bounty hunter. He supposed that was an adequate description, he did not think explaining that he was a drifter would make them look at him in any better light.

They discussed his part in the raid. He told them what he had discovered, how he had found the hideout and how he had decided then and there to go in and free the women.

"By yourself?" Marshal Jolson said.

Vash opened his mouth and realised that anything he said to explain that would either sound insane or get him into serious trouble.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." He said lamely.

"As insane as it was, it was a good idea, young man." Jolson gave him an approving nod. "When you're better, give a thought to joining the Marshal services, it's a worthwhile job and the bonus of the reward money will set you up for life."

Vash gave a nod, appeasing the man, but not in agreement. He needed to be able to move freely, with Knives wandering as he did. He needed to be able to respond as soon as he heard any rumours. As much as he would not have minded a steady job and pay, as long as his brother remained out there, he could not bind himself to anything.

He watched the Marshals and the Sheriff leave and cast his eye over the visitors the other men had. Mr Smith had a wife and three teenage sons who were telling their father about a mishap on the toma farm they ran. Mr Langly had what seemed like his six grown up children around him, and Mr Saunders had an elegantly skinny young wife with her hair cropped in a neat bob. No, not a wife, she looked like his secretary, she certainly acted like one, taking notes as he spoke and nodding at everything he said.

"Ooh! Can we go in now? I want to see him!"

"Yes. Go in in an orderly fashion, and don't touch him, he's hurt!"

Everyone turned to see what the raucous at the door was. Five children dressed in their Sunday best, their hair neatly combed and their faces freshly washed so that their cheeks glowed pink filed in, their eyes wide. Vash watched as they came to line up beside his bed, followed by their mother. He smiled as he recognised one of the women he had rescued.

"I can't see."

Their mother picked up the youngest, a little girl of about four, and settled her on her hip.

"Um, Sir." The eldest boy said and held out an envelope. "We want to say thank you for rescuing our mother. I wrote you this."

He blinked; he had never seen a child so formal before.

"And we brought you a gift." The second eldest girl said and held out a purse with a hand sewn V on it. "I helped sew that." The third girl said shyly and stared at the bedspread.

"And Nat and I got you our favourite." The fourth and youngest boy said and pointed at his sister. The little girl held out a box.

"Thank you." He said, astonished, and touched. He smiled and wiped at the tears that slipped down his face. "You're all very kind."

"We're glad mother is back with us. You're very brave. Thank you." The eldest boy said.

Vash took the envelope and the purse, which was rather heavy with coins, and the box which looked like a cake box of some kind. He had not had cake in ages. He hadn't had money in ages, luxuries like cake only happened when he stumbled upon a serious pay check. The formality was beginning to wear at him. He grinned at the boy beside him, he didn't look older than fourteen.

"Do you want to hear the story?" He watched as the boy's eyes widened in interest then shot a protective look at his mother and sisters.

"I'll leave out the blood." He added, "Seeing as how it was mostly mine and of no importance to the tale."

The younger children grinned, their eyes interested but afraid. Only the eldest boy watched him with wary fear, as if he truly did know what had happened and was still rather traumatised.

"Well, I can only tell you from what I know, 'cause I only came in at the very end." He said lowering his voice and the children gathered closer. Their mother shot him a warning stare and he gave a slight nod. He knew how to entertain kids.

All in all, as uncertain as his awakening had been, it had become a surprisingly pleasant one.


	7. Chapter 7: (V,Me,Mi) Moods

**Reasons for Meryl's Bad Moods**

Spoilers: Trigun vol 1

If he had to admit it, he was amused by the games she played. If they were indeed games - the way she would scold, or be blunt to people. He enjoyed them, as long as it was not him who was at the receiving end. But of late, he'd been at the receiving end of plenty.

A few incidents stood out starkly. He blushed slightly to recall Milly's appalled expression as Meryl took him to task like a five year old, in front of a whole crowd of people. She'd grabbed his ear and dragged him out of the saloon and scolded him in the street for everyone to hear. He had just looked at girl; he had not even grinned at her, or attempted any flirting. Milly had cringingly excused Meryl's behaviour as, "she's on her period, Mister Vash, sorry she's worse than usual." He had not known where to look after that. He had done his best to avoid Meryl. He had also remembered the date, so he could anticipate future occurrences and make sure to make himself scarce at that time of the month. Oh man, who would have thought, strategic woman avoidance. He had heard enough married men complaining about lying low at such times, but had never thought he would be stuck in such a situation.

Thinking about that, what was the date... oh yeah. That would be it, what happened to girls that they got all emotionally crazy? He sighed, very thankful that he was not a woman. How did Meryl deal with it every month when she didn't have him to bitch at? He smiled crookedly; he would love to see the reports she sent back to Bernadelli at such times, as that seemed to be her other outlet.

Then there was the time a few weeks after he'd just come to know them. They had just come off the sand steamer and had visited Little Arcadia. She'd thumped him in the back and taken him to task for trying to protect the old folks. It had been his first real encounter with her totally irrational side, and also with her utter lack of apology. He would have slunk off at the dead of night, ditching them so they couldn't find him again if he hadn't owed them for helping out on the sand steamer. It was during that time that he had realised she was complicated and brave. He had been planning to ditch them soon after helping her, but, somehow had not been able to. He had not made it obvious, but he had slowed his pace and allowed them to fall in behind him. She intrigued him. She'd fought for others, and there was something about her that he could not abandon just yet. Um. Not that he liked her, she was interesting, that was all. Her partner was funny. He really liked Milly's inadvertent humour.

There was also the incident with the hotel. Meryl had miscalculated how much money they had had, and they'd had to find a new place while still owing the hotel they had stayed at money. The hotel owner had taken to sending heavies around to remind them. While he saw most of them off with part payment, a few had encountered her and she'd thrown a fit after the fifth one had slipped through his net. She'd grabbed the poor man and had dragged him back to the hotel and had explained in a voice that entertained the entire dinner service why she could not pay then and there, and that she would be paying by the end of the week, and how impossible the hotel owner was being. That was rudeness, he did not like it, but she did have a point. The hotel owner was not being particularly polite either. It had been after that _discussion_ that they had discovered that the hotel had only seen half money they had been paying the heavies. He'd fully agreed to her furiously quiet almost murderous complaint she had delivered with both him and Milly in attendance as her bodyguards. The hotel owner had taken the point. He'd been quite glad to leave that town.

He recalled the time when she had been so irritated at him, that she'd tried to call his bluff before a saloon of bounty hunters. But he knew that game better than her, and had only caused guffaws of laughter when he had announced himself as the legendary outlaw. Hah, had she been peeved. It had felt good to get the better of her little power games. He liked to keep her just on the edge, thinking she knew him, as she was so secure in her pride she forgot to actually watch him. That was convenient when it came to slipping off to do things he didn't want her knowing anything about. He didn't care for his myriad philanthropic actions and idle flirting to all end up in a Bernadelli report. A man had to have some secrets.

He watched now as she furiously stormed across the room to him, dodging people in the crowded saloon. He got to his feet so that she wouldn't corner him. Once she had noticed him he slowly made his way out towards the back door. He paid his tab on the way out and skipped down the steps with Meryl hot on his heels. He made it across the tomas yard before she caught him.

"Vash!" She scolded.

"W-what?" He said quietly, sometimes that worked to keep her quiet.

"You-"

"I sent a posse of bounty hunters, who were after _me_ by the way, out into the desert chasing a runaway tomas." He interrupted before she could announce his deception to the world. Some things were best kept to a whisper.

"And who will pay for that tomas?"

"Ah..." He hadn't thought that far.

"You idiot!" She hissed at him. "You owe me two thousand double dollars!"

Oh, was that it?

He sauntered off.

"Vash!" She hissed after him.

"What? You want your money, c'mon."

She gaped at him shocked.

"You have two thousand-mmmpph." He leaped over and clamped a hand over her face. He carefully released her when she grabbed his arm and tried to pull it away.

"If you want to keep that amount of money, best not to advertise it." He murmured in her ear.

She jerked away and pushed him back.

"Get going." She ordered.

He reached his room and dug in his bag. He found one of the pouches where he stored cash when he had it and pulled out a wad of notes. He counted off twenty hundred double dollar bills. She took the money wordlessly.

"Where did you get that?" She asked suspiciously.

"I won it." He folded the rest away and stashed it in his bag once more.

"Where?"

He smiled and shrugged. He was not explaining everything.

He had helped a couple who had been mugged, and on taking the mugger to the sheriff's office had received ten thousand in reward. That had been yesterday and already half he had distributed to various places, the rest would go towards a few necessities and rent.

"Where?" She demanded again, this time stomping over to him. "I'm not taking dodgy cash."

That hurt, that he'd have dirty money on his hands.

"In the pursuit of Love and Peace."

And if she did not understand that, then why was she following him?


	8. Chapter 8: (L,Mi) Sharing

**Sharing**

 _This one was written for Eden Evergreen:_  
 _Thanks for all your awesome help with the Trigun Timeline – I would not be half the writer I am without you! Hugs!_

Livio drove the large car down the main street in December. He had been lucky to be able to keep the car. It was his delight to keep it shiny and clean, and he enjoyed the envious gaze of the men he drove past. Only today, he was not. Instead of himself, a cool young man behind the wheel of a sleek machine, he was, well... how to describe it? Putting it ingloriously, he was a taxi driver. No, a taxi driver would be a genteel way of putting it. He was driving a _bus_ full of children into town, only the _bus_ wasn't a bus, but the same sleek car. He could not pull off the same suave coolness with fifteen orphan kids squashed into the back. Fortunately it was only a day trip to the December geoplant to show the children what trees and flowers looked like. However he felt his street cred was suffering.

He had just pulled up to the busiest intersection in December when a loud wail started up in the back seat. Livio glared up at the traffic lights willing them to change faster. But no. The traffic flowed the other way. The wail became several wails and he turned around to witness a fight.

"Who wants to walk?" He growled. Usually his frosty growl silenced them, but they were too upset to notice. The wails became louder. Worse, people in the other cars began looking. And then, because they had not waited long enough for the flow of other traffic, the pedestrian lights came on. Livio sunk down slightly in his seat as now pedestrians gazed at the chaos.

"Mister Livio!"

He jumped at a bright call to his name and found a pretty young woman staring down at him, her handbag over her shoulder. He gaped at her. He hadn't seen Milly Thompson since she last visited Wolfwood's grave.

"Are these all yours?" She gestured at the kids.

By now he had an audience of most of the pedestrians, the cars alongside and a crowd on the side walk.

"Yes" was the honest answer. They were his orphans. But there was no way in _hell_ he was going to say that with an audience.

He gaped at Milly, struck speechless. To his astonishment she ignored him and leaned in at his window and smiled at the children.

"I've just bought doughnuts. Do you think you could share them out, half each so there will be enough."

That silenced the wailing.

Milly handed the doughnut box over, waved to him and walked off along the pedestrian walk. It was only when the horn of the car behind him sounded that he realised the lights had changed. Instead of wails there were some rather suggestive giggles. Livio stared straight ahead as he pulled away. On the whole, perhaps the wailing was better, kids could _tease_.


	9. Chapter 9: (V) Continue

**How to continue on when one is exhausted**

Vash shrugged his heavy duffle to his other shoulder and readjusted the cords around his hand. He could see the glint of the sun off the tall ruins of the ship in the distance. Three more iles to the town. He put one foot in front of the other, gently coaxing his body back into his walking rhythm. The chorus of aches and pains blurred with the weariness and he found his vision narrowing until all he saw was the path in front of him. His feet fell in time with his heartbeat; the crunch on the sandy path was like a force driving him forward. Another step, another step, nearly there, another step.

He reached the town and walked past the saloon, and the bank. He had no money. He turned away as yet another tide of wariness washed over him. He wanted to collapse right there in the road. He was physically exhausted, but worse, he felt empty. It was better when he felt something, anything. He knew heartache as an old crotchety companion, yet now even heartache had left him. All that remained was an odd numbness. He walked steadily to the far end of town, seeking a house in the back streets. He came to a halt when he saw a row of houses already half claimed by sand, standing in ruins.

"Wha'cher want?" A gravelly voice asked behind him leering slightly, as if they knew an opportunity when they saw one.

Vash turned his gaze on the stocky young thug and his three accomplices. The emptiness that was eating him inside gave him a terrifyingly insane expression. There was a pause as the men assessed their chances of survival against such a man.

"Where are they?" Vash asked his voice hoarse from lack of use. "They lived here." He pointed at an empty house, gazing at it. In his mind's eye, he could see the sprawling family of twelve that had somehow managed to fit into four small rooms.

The group of young men glanced at each other and one of their member found himself the recipient of inquiring stares from the rest of the group.

"The Malkin's? Loads of snotty kids? They left two years back. Three of their kids dead of cholera before they stopped the outbreak, loads of folks left then. Was bad."

Vash stared at them searching their faces, but the dismay and the wave of exhaustion did nothing to penetrate the emptiness.

He sat down against the wall, stretched his legs across the sand filled road and put his head back. His duffle rolled slightly away from him.

The four thugs stared down at him, then shuffled together into a little huddle.

"He's not moving."

"He's crazy."

"You think he's a Malkin? I heard their eldest ran away."

"Dude, easiest robbery ever, wha'cha discussing it for?"

The other three turned very level gazes on the fourth for suggesting such a thing.

"He's folk."

"His accent isn't from around here, how can you claim that?"

"He's been wandering, but he belongs here, you saw how he walked the narrows to get here. He knows this place like the back of his hand. He's one of us."

"Yeah, and if we don't get him, someone else will. I mean look, he's closed his eyes."

"He looks crazy."

"Maybe, but he's folk. Do you still have that room in Sand Alley?"

"What? Me ma stays there, I is not putting no random stranger with me ma!"

"Well unless you want to look after him..."

Vash opened his eyes as he felt someone pull his duffle bag away from his hands. He made no attempt to grab it back. His vision was blurring double.

"Crud, dude, what do you have in here? Rocks? Solid gold?"

At that remark the three others who were crowded around him glared.

"I know, I know, he's folk."

"Get up. We'll take you to a place. Old Jim's ma knew the Malkin's. She can give you some news, you can't sleep out here, the..."

"Sam." Jim interrupted gruffly.

"What? If he is folk he'll kn... Okay, whatever."

Vash felt two of them hoist him to his feet. He could walk, but stumbled along, directionless.

He came to his senses when he stepped out of the sun into the cool interior of the shade.

"Ma, ma just listen."

"Listen? To a no good son who I don't see for weeks at a time." A skinny old lady with grey curly hair was glowering up at her taller son.

"Ma?"

"They have your face on one of those papers by the sheriff's office. I know! I went down there to see! My son! The shame you have put me to!" She waved her lace handkerchief at him.

"Ma!"

"Then the neighbours they all whisper, Jim this, Jim that. I know my boy, he's a good boy. But that paper! That paper says you've done sommat!"

"Ma!" Jim reached out and put both of his large hands on her shoulders. "Just listen, please!"

She glowered at Jim.

"Why should I listen if you never do?"

"Ma, you remember the Malkin's?"

"O'course, what'cha think I'm losing my mind now?"

"Ha' a look here Ma..."

The old woman stepped out of Jim's hands and stared up at Vash. Vash stared back, exhausted.

"Oi! Who's this fella? He sick?"

"Ma, we was thinking he's a Malkin."

The old woman glared at Jim and waved her hand negligently.

"I could never keep all them Malkin's straight there were hundreds of them, all anyone knows when they see a blond kid is that it was a Malkin's get. Sit him in the chair, he looks like he'll fall over if you let him go."

Vash folded into the rocking chair on the far side of the room and slouched there. People were watching him; he was too at the end of himself to care.

"Now that you's here Jim. The rent's not been paid for two weeks, the electricity is cut from this part of town at night so if you're going to feed him here you'd best get it cooked before sunset and make sure none of the neighbours sees you. Damn if that old hussy Sal doesn't go on about your paper by the Sheriff's office."

Vash drank the water offered then fell asleep as he listened to the nagging and haranguing Jim's mother dished out to her son and his gang.

He woke four hours later, uncomfortable and disorientated. But a little sleep and water had done its work. He was beginning to feel bad for having depended so heavily on the mercy of strangers. For the first time in weeks, he could feel something other than exhaustion at the endless monotony of pain and sorrow. He carefully shifted his body, everything ached. The old woman was right, there was no electricity at night, it was dark in the house. Jim sat against the wall beside the door, snoring slightly, but that was not what had woken him. He listened, and heard it again, a soft turn of a key in a lock. The door opened, and Jim slept on. The old lady tottered in and closed the door behind her. She glanced down at her son then at Vash. Seeing him awake she smiled knowingly.

"C'm 'ere." She waved at him and pulled the door open again.

Vash felt every part of his body creak as he pushed himself out of the chair and followed the old woman out of the door. She took him to the end of Sand Alley where the moonlight broke through the tall buildings.

"So my petty small time criminal of a son has fallen in with a truly wanted outlaw, hmm?" The old woman held up a poster clearly torn from the wall on the sheriff's office. "The law a little too hot on your tail this time, 'eh Vash the Stampede?"

Vash took the poster. It had a picture of him grinning cockily and the amount of his bounty set at $$ 60 billion. He didn't say anything, there wasn't anything to say, the emptiness had returned again. She jabbed him in the ribs with her finger, he winced as she caught a bruise.

"There's sommat not right with you boy."

Vash lowered the poster and glanced at her.

"Why are you still alive?"

Vash shrugged. The old lady glared at him, furious that he did not take her seriously.

"The last time I saw you, boy, you tried to put your arm around me and kiss me! I never forget a face, and I remember slapping you."

Vash blinked, bewildered. He had to admit he'd made more than a few unlucky passes at the girls, but so far he'd not met them a second time. The old lady grabbed his ear and he yelped and leaned over as she tugged it down so that his eyes were at her level.

"Hmm, still have the same beauty spot by your eye, and that pathetic expression on your face. Honestly, even my Jim – and he's as thick as two bricks – knows how to wile himself out of a situation. Yet you stand here, and let me trail you around by your ear."

She released him and Vash straightened. He couldn't find it in himself to care.

"That, and you haven't aged an iota in fifty years, what you say to that, boy?"

That should have rung alarm bells in his head, but there was just a silent emptiness. Vash gazed down at her.

She sighed softly and formed her hand into a fist and tapped him on the chest.

"You are a mess. I knew you in your youth Vash the Stampede, and you stole my heart, no matter how hard I slapped you for it. But this empty shell? This is not what I loved."

She had? He gazed at her eyes, usually he could remember the eyes, but not with her.

"What happened?"

Vash stared at her, the numbness flooded over him as he tried to find an explanation. She gazed at him.

"Okay, here's the deal. I don't turn you in, and you sleep in the chair until you've come to yourself. And you tell me what happened."

He simply gazed at her, not knowing where to start.

"Something bad?"

He shrugged.

"What's haunting you? You killed a man?"

Vash shrugged, he could not think past the numb emptiness.

"What's this? You lost your memories?"

Vash frowned. He rubbed at his head as his brain sluggishly refused to work.

"Hmm." The old lady peered at him. "You have a week's grace, and I'll call you Malkin, can't have Jim and his rotten louts he calls friends tempted by the price on your head. Let's get indoors before we both freeze. Lend an old lady your arm, boy, it's the least you can do."

Vash followed. He could do no other. Yet even through the vast emptiness and exhaustion, he knew that again he was in the debt to another's kindness. His heart could not feel but his soul grasped fast to that. It would one day be his restoration.


	10. Chapter 10: (V) Surprises

**Surprises**

The bus terminus was slowly clearing and Annie clutched at her shoulder bag containing her worldly possessions.

"Well hello!"

A tall blond man sauntered over to where she was standing. She levelled a glare at him. This did not deter his strut in her direction.

"Pretty lady, I can be your bodyguard for hire." He declared as he halted before her and puffed out his chest. She eyed him warily, he was far too tall and skinny for her liking and that red coat was the most tasteless thing she had ever seen. Did he not know that season's colours were grey and blue?

"I am sure such a beautiful lady as yourself would be in need of such a guard!"

In the time he had been talking he had managed to weave an arm around her shoulders.

She looked up at him, puzzled.

Here he was offering body guard services, but what she really needed was a body guard to keep him away. No, with that silly smile on his face he was definitely short a few brain cells.

"It just so happens I do." She smiled at him and slipped her arm around his waist.

He beamed at her.

"Where is the nearest hostel? I require a room."

"You can share mine!" He said delighted and walked her off down the street, chatting.

She excused herself to visit the powder room and leaned against the door in the stall. What man only carried twenty double dollars, a speed loader for some kind of old fashioned revolver and a crumpled cigarette in his pocket. She had thought she had had the best of him, yet somehow she had been cheated. But that coat of his, though tacky in colour was a good make, he had money, she just had to find it. And she had just the invitation. His room, indeed. This should be amusing.

He leaped up from the bench in the hall with puppy like enthusiasm and escorted her to his room. The room was furnished with a single bed and a closet, but what caught her eye was the large duffel bag lying in one corner. Aha.

"It'll be a little cozy." He gestured to the bed with a laugh.

"Will it?" She said coolly, and turned her back on him to get a better view of his bag. This turned out to be a mistake. He hugged her from behind.

"Not with a pretty lady like you!" He cooed happily.

She balled her hand into a fist and almost punched him on the chin, when she realized that there might be an easier solution.

She half turned in his embrace and kissed him on the cheek.

He blinked at her in complete shock, then the next think she knew she was supporting his entire body weight. The idiot had fainted on her. Fainted! What smarmy charmer like him fainted at a kiss? She dragged him over to the bed and dropped him on to it, ready to snatch her knife if he tried to pull her after him. But no. He sagged half onto the floor. She checked his eyes. Totally out of it. What luck was that?

She left him half sprawled on the bed, took up his pack and with a grunt at how heavy it was, slipped out of the room.

"Too-de-loo idiot!"

She sat in the loft of a tomas stables, and went through her haul. The only thing of value was what made the pack heavy, ammunition for the same old fashioned revolver. Other than that, there were two empty water canteens, empty food canisters and a worn pair of shoes. Amid the few changes of clothing she discovered patched underwear. She held up the offending pair. What man patched underwear? Neatly too, she had to admit. He was clearly dirt poor if he patched his underwear! That coat was deceptive, as was this well made bag. She scowled. He was probably a son of a wealthy family who had squandered his money and was now on the lam. She was disgusted at herself, how had she missed the signs?

She drew out the last thing in bag, when her fingers touched paper, she felt her heart leap. But it was not double dollar bills, oh no. It was a thicker paper. She unfolded it curiously and felt her heart skip a beat.

"Wanted: Vash the Stampede: $$ 60 billion"

Under the title was a sketch of the very man she had just stolen the bag from.

"Annie." She whispered to herself in horror. "What have you _done_?"

She was a thief, but he was an outlaw of such terrible repute. Who _fainted_ at a kiss? She frowned at the poster.

"Vash the Stampede, you are a fraud!" She exclaimed in frustration and disappointment. He wasn't supposed to be such a pushover.

"Whaa? That's not very nice."

Her heart almost lept out of her mouth. He sat not more than a yarz from her on the feed keg. He had a slightly comical expression of hurt on his face. He then noticed his underwear on the floor.

"Oh man! There are some things young ladies should not see!"

He grabbed up his clothing and tried to bundle it all into his bag at a frantic rate. In his efforts he spilled more than he packed. She had to hand him the patched underwear three times. He tied his bag closed and hugged it.

"So we're going to sleep here tonight?" He looked around.

"No." She held up the poster. "You're going to the sheriff and I am going to sleep in the best hotel in town."

He stared at the poster for a long moment, then drew something out of a breast pocket in his coat. He unfolded it and after reading it, held it out to her.

"Wanted: Annie Witherson. SS 10 000. Sneak thief, pick pocket. Wanted in May City in connection with the blue diamond theft."

"I was framed!" She snapped. "That's a lie."

"Was it?" He opened his hand and she glanced down at her fingers. When had he got close enough to remove her ring?

She lunged forward and suddenly he wasn't there. He was standing a few yarz to one side.

"Give it back!" She hissed.

"You return what you took from me and we have a deal," he said and sat cross legged on the floor with his duffle beside him.

She handed over his wallet, speed loader and cigarette. He returned the ring.


	11. Chapter 11: (V,W,Me,Mi) The Trail

**The Trail**

Walking through the town's streets in the early morning was peaceful. It was too early for those who participated in the town's wild nightlife to be awake. Meryl stopped by the café and bought herself a large coffee, then after a thought, three more. She needed it after last night. She took a few fortifying sips as she huddled in the doorway, out of the thin wind that blew off the desert, still icy from the night. It was far too late for those wending their way home to have any enthusiasm for mischief. A group of three men shuffled homeward mutely protesting the dawn having ended their revels.

.

She stepped out into the street again, sipping her coffee. It helped, for the moment. Coffee on a night of no sleep had a peculiar intensifying effect. It certainly woke her up, which she needed, but it made her jittery and hyper-aware of everything. She then noticed the blood splatters on the ground. Disgusting. The wind wasn't carrying enough sand to cover them. It was one thing to hear the shots and screams at night, but she hadn't wanted to see evidence so early in the morning. Unfortunately, the splatters were scattered along the path in front of the shops. It was filthy. Why did the shopkeepers not see it and attempt to sweep it away or at least throw sand on it?

.

She glanced back at the café, now several shops behind her. The blood started there. She turned, following the trail with her eye. The splatters had a pattern, a large drop, followed by those decreasing in size. As if someone was running and dropping blood. A great deal of blood. She looked away, that was the sheriff's jurisdiction – or perhaps, by the amount of blood, the morgue's. She carefully avoided stepping on it as she walked on. She wanted to celebrate having finished typing the reports; she would mail them off to Bernadelli today. She then she arrived at her destination, only to find it full of people.

.

She wove her way through the press of people and ordered fresh bread, doughnuts, and cakes for tea. She squeezed her way out again, and stood on the pavement. The doughnuts smelled so good she helped herself to one. Vash would never know. She smiled and licked her fingers clean. She then realised she stood on a large sand covered patch of blood. She hastily stepped off it and walked out into the middle of the street. That was quite enough of that so early in the morning. She returned to the house they were renting to find Milly yawning and wandering around in her pyjamas and slippers.

"Miss Meryl!" She half waved and covered a yawn. "I just got up. Mister Wolfwood is here, but I haven't seen Mister Vash since last night. I never heard him come in."

Meryl felt an icy dread flood through her. She dumped the coffee and the bakeries packet on the table by the door and sprinted back down the road. She ignored Milly as she called after her.

.

Stupid! She should have seen it. Of course! Of course. How had she not? She had been so revolted by the presence of blood she had not spared a moment's thought for the one hurt. That it had been someone's life blood dripping out on the pavement. That someone was running from the attack, in pain. Hurting. Intent on escaping with their life.

.

She sprinted past the café, not caring if her feet touched the trail of blood. It was a trail. But not of reckless violence and foolhardy behaviour. Not of some careless brawl over some deal gone wrong. He must have tried to stop something. And he was badly hurt. Oh, how had she become so blasé? She had not realised that the fatigue had crept up on her, seeing blood spilled so often that she no longer cared who or why. She skidded to a halt outside the bakers to catch her breath. He must have stood here. Oh, why hadn't she seen it? Of course he had stood here, there were doughnuts. At the back of her mind she realised he wasn't that stupid, but in the flat panic that carried her, that was all the logic she could allow.

.

She glanced around. There! Onwards she ran, towards a narrow alley, and through to the lesser travelled streets. The dawn light only diluted the night to deep shadows here. The trail splattered on, down this alley, then the next, until she arrived at a corroded metal dumpster. It stank of weeks of refuse gone bad. She held her nose and searched around it, then dragged an old paint can over and stood on it to peer into the dumpster itself. There, buried under the rubbish so unless she was looking for him she would not see him, lay Vash.

"Miss Meryl!"

Milly entered the alley touting her stun gun, followed by Wolfwood. She had clearly dragged the priest out of bed, as his hair was tousled and he had forgotten his sunglasses. He squinted uncomfortably in the dim light.

"Spikey's in the dumpster, isn't he?"

Meryl took a breath to speak and gagged at the smell. She coughed as her eyes watered.

"He's hurt!" She snapped at him.

Wolfwood leaned his Punisher against the wall.

"Spikey, you're going to pay for my laundry!" Wolfwood grumbled and waved Meryl away. He heaved himself into the dumpster. Meryl climbed back onto the paint tin, and Milly joined her on tiptoe.

"Mister Vash looks in a very bad way." Milly shuddered.

"Yo! Bonehead! Wake up!" Wolfwood smacked Vash on the cheek.

"Mister Priest!" Milly called scandalised as Vash groggily stared at Wolfwood.

"This bed of yours stinks!" Wolfwood scolded. "C'mon. Get up!"

Vash looked as white as a sheet, but let Wolfwood help him up.

"Insurance girls!" He looked blearily at them.

"Yeah! Even the girls are here, and you're gonna pay everyone's laundry for having to drag your stinky arse back home!"

"W-whaa?" Vash blinked at them, trying to frown.

"Can you climb out?"

Vash considered the tall side of the dumpster for a moment.

"N-no?"

That was the wrong answer. Wolfwood hauled him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift and Vash passed out after breathing just one 'ow!'

"Er…" Wolfwood said guiltily. He manhandled Vash over the edge of the dumpster and Milly and Meryl did their best to catch him on the other side. They lowered Vash onto the ground.

"How close is the hospital?" Wolfwood asked, worriedly.

"I saw one on the other end of town." Milly murmured thoughtfully. "But I saw a doctor's sign just up the street from our house. We could call there."

"Take him home and call the doctor." Meryl said not liking the pale shade of Vash's face.

.

"He's sick. Here." Wolfwood all but dragged the doctor in.

Vash lay sprawled on his bed. Meryl and Milly were trying to removed his clothing without hurting him. As everything under his coat was sticky with blood it was rather a difficult feat. The doctor took one look and sprinted out again.

"Hey!" Wolfwood yelled. "The stink isn't that bad!" The priest took a half step towards Vash to see if he was still breathing, then turned and sprinted after the doctor. He returned looking a little chastened, this time with the doctor and two assistants carrying a stretcher.

.

Wolfwood, Meryl and Milly sat on the bench outside the doctor's surgery. They sat and shared the doughnuts and coffee Meryl had bought earlier. The nursing sister walked over with a laundry bag. The smell left no doubt as to what was in it, as if the slowly widening blood stains did not give it away.

"I'll need you to sign for this. Your friend should be out from under anaesthetic in about half an hour."

Meryl took the clipboard and hastily turned a laugh into a cough. Wolfwood had given Vash's name as S. Tinky. She signed and took the offensive laundry bag.

"Ah." The nurse said delicately. "We cannot allow you into the wards with such an unpleasant smell about you."

They all looked at the bag. Surely, they could not be as bad as the stench coming off the laundry?

.

They returned in half that time, showered and in a fresh change of clothes. Vash opened one eye as they sneaked into the small curtained off room beside the surgery.

"Hey Stinky."

Vash blinked at Wolfwood, then pouted.

"Mister V-ah –S, er, Tinky." Milly swallowed a smile. "What happened?"

"S-someone was in trouble." Vash said with a vague look as if either he was trying to remember the details, or he was deciding to say no more.

They did not press him, though Meryl had to stand on Wolfwood's foot to make sure.

"H-how did you find me?" Vash asked groggily. "I sure thought I was dead that time."

"Your stench!" Wolfwood exclaimed. "The air was green with your passing. Ladies fainted. Tomas' dropped in the street…"

Meryl interrupted Wolfwood's enthusiastic elaboration.

"We followed the trail."

* * *

 _A/N: Inspired, unfortunately, by real life… yuk._


	12. Chapter 12: (V) Diary

**Diary of the Dusty End of Nowhere**

 _My father is a cheat. Not at cards, mind you, but at everything else. I mean, he cheats me, his own son, out of wages. I know how much other kids who work for their parents get paid. I don't get paid anywhere near that. He promised me a raise, and these past two years, I've yet to see it. I run the till in our general store, right? So I know how much the store takes. He must think I'm stupid or something._

 _Anyway. It's coming to the end of summer and it's been one hectic season, and now things are only going to get busier because harvest is coming in. We might live in the dusty end of nowhere, but this little town gets lively when the harvest comes in. I like harvest, it's the time when we can get grown food, rather than plant produced produce. There's just something, well, different about it. That sounds odd trying to distinguish food, but let me tell you, you ain't tasted the bread they make with the wheat they grow here. No comparison. Um yeah, now I'm hungry. Where was I?_

 _Ah, yeah, I have news. We hired a new guy today. At last! Let me tell you, we've hired a lot of people over the years. A lot. They haven't stuck around. My father is rather difficult to work for. There's the matter of the wages and the matter of him shouting a lot. And being drunk a lot. And not being around to tell anyone what to do or what to order. I prefer the 'not around' to shouting, and I know the store well enough to order what people need. I pretty much run the place. But I can't hire people because as absent as my father is, he's got a hawks eye for money. Knows every c-cent and double dollar bill in this town personally does my father._

 _So I didn't have much hope for this new guy. He looks like a dreamer, and he has this goofy blond hair that sticks up all over the place. I dunno what he said to my father to get him to hire him, but he pitched up at the store with a smile on his face and a note. It said to pay "John" ten double dollars a day. Looks like John got cheated worse than I did. I showed him where to stash his things in the back, but man, let me tell you, he wore a killer duster. I have a taste for good clothing even if I can't afford it, and that duster, it's custom made. It has had a few years hard wear, but that just shows the quality. You can't buy something like that on a wage of ten double dollars a day. Not even a hundred double dollars a day. This guy, he had money once. I didn't get to see much more of the duster as I was called into the shop. He came out from the back room wearing a plain shirt and trousers with suspenders. Kept his glove on his left hand though. I think I like this guy. He's got interesting written all over him. Only, if he is the type of guy I think he is – we get guys like him through town on occasion – he won't tell me any of the really interesting stuff. We'll be working together, and the store gets quiet at times, I'll just have to see what I can get. Can't let him find this notebook, I'll have to keep it on me. He'll clam right up if he knows I keep notes of stuff._

* * *

Vash shrugged his shoulders to get the suspenders to sit comfortably and peered around the small general store. It had the long ingrained smell of dried beans and wheat, the sour tang of iron, and the harsh industrial cacophony of scents from the tins of grease and oils sold for the machinery in town. He walked over to where Sam, the young son of the proprietor, was ringing up a sale for a stocky grey haired farmer. The boy thanked the man and watched him out the store.

"Hey, John."

Vash gave a nod. He'd been using this alias for the past three towns now, he'd have to use a different one when he moved along, it'd be no good if they started tracking his alias's too.

The boy ducked under the counter and brought out a clipboard with several pages covered in neat handwriting, then thrust it at him. Vash took it.

"We've got to do stock check for the mechanical supplies and the lubricants, and all the stuff that the farmers might need over harvest. Because, if we don't have it and they need it, they get mighty mean right here in the store."

Sam peered up at him with bright brown eyes, Vash estimated his age to be about fourteen, perhaps fifteen by the squeak in his voice and the fluff on his chin.

"You can read, right?" He said with sudden worry.

"I can." Vash peered down the list. This was not the father's handwriting, the note had been in an indifferent scrawl, this was a more practiced and careful hand.

"Then, you can start right here, behind the counter, everything needs to be counted. I'll look over it tonight to see what we have to order."

Vash peered up at the shelves screwed to the walls, all the way to the ceiling, a distance of twice his height. There was a ladder in the corner. This was going to take a while.

* * *

 _Turns out John can read. And write. He's got this old style ornate handwriting, all cursive, and not only cursive but near copperplate. I do like it, I'll copy out his letters and practice it until I can write like that. He's really quick at counting stuff, and accurate too. Not the usual average Joe we get in here. He's got a wicked sense of humour too. He was all quiet at first. So I made this really lame joke about lubricants. Oh brother, does he know some saucy ones. We had to can it when Mrs Simmon's from the linen store next door came in, but he kept grinning at me when she wasn't looking. I almost wet myself with the effort of not laughing. Best stock count ever._

 _I've tried copying his writing from the list on the clipboard. It's really hard to write so neat as John, how does he do it? I'm waiting for him to fetch his stuff in the back so I can lock up. He's sure taking his time._

* * *

Vash sauntered out through the darkened store with his duffle over his shoulder. It had been a good day. He'd discovered Sam was fifteen and eleven months, nearly sixteen. He looked younger, perhaps it was because he was skinny and a little undernourished. He found the teenager huddled on the veranda outside, checking over the stock count list.

"Yaah!" Sam yelled and leaped so violently that he dropped the clipboard on the road. He frantically picked up the papers and glared up at Vash. "Damn, you move quietly. You scared the wits out of me."

He shoved the papers under his arm and took the key from his pocket and clambered back up onto the veranda and locked the door.

"See ya!" He called and waved a handful of papers at him.

Vash followed him as he walked down the street.

"The Saloon and boarding house are that way." Sam pointed.

Vash shook his head.

"Your father said you had an empty room."

Vash was rather surprised at the astonished expression of delight on the boy's face.

"You're _staying_ with us?"

"Yes?"

Sam's smile could have hung off his ears. It vanished as soon as it had come though.

"Ugh. Hang on, I'll have to go back to the store. We need to buy some groceries if we're gonna eat tonight."

Bewildered at the change, Vash watched him go.

He helped carry the groceries from the corner store to the house in the street running parallel to the main. It was a double story place that looked out over the schoolyard next door. Sam flipped on the lights and gave an odd sideways jerk with his head as he walked in.

"That's your room, mine's on the other side. Dad sleeps upstairs when he comes home."

There was a pained bitterness tagging the end of that sentence.

Vash dumped his bag by the door and carried the groceries through to the kitchen at the back of the house. Sam went ahead of him, turning on lights. The kitchen opened on to a broad dining room, with a table with space for four. There were shelves lining the walls here too, and they were laden with books. Vash placed the groceries on the table and went over to have a look. He had not seen a personal collection of quite so many before.

"Yeah, that's mum's collection." Sam said with a hint of pride. "The library has been on at us to donate it, but they're mine so they can't have them. Do you like to read?"

"I don't often get the chance." Vash murmured, his eyes skipping over the titles, briefly triggering memories of the stories contained within. He reached up and drew out a fat tome entitled 'The History and Accounts of the Great Fall' off the shelf.

"You like history?" Sam asked. "I've read some of that, it's dry as dust. I'm sure I could write a properly interesting account from what they have got collected there. It'd read like a whopping adventure tale."

Vash paged through the book. He'd never seen this. It had been compiled forty years ago, and this edition had been reprinted twenty years past. He glanced at Sam who was unpacking the grocery bags.

"You write?"

"Er, yeah." Sam grinned, his face flushing slightly. "Only, don't let on to my father, 'cause he'll only get upset. I run the store, that's all he needs to know of my activities."

* * *

 _Father let the room. What did John say to him? Father hasn't been in that room for six years. I keep it clean and all, but no one just gets that room. John does, apparently. Interesting does not begin to describe him. What history does he have with my father? He looks to be in his twenties, so he must have known him when he was like my age. I don't remember him at all, and I was ten._

 _I splurged on the shopping for this week. If father let the room, then John is something special, and not only 'cause he can tell funny stories and wears the most awesome duster I have ever seen. He let me look at it when I asked him about it. Said it was custom made by very old friends as a gift for him. That makes sense; he doesn't look like a guy that came from money. I asked him how much it cost. He laughed and folded the coat away, saying it was priceless. I was watching him, and the way he shrugged that off was sneaky, like he did mean the words he said, but there was a whole depth of meaning wallowing underneath them. This guy, I was right about him being one of those interesting drifters with a past, but he's more than most. I mean he's full of odd contradictions. He's well educated but talks like a hick. He's very chatty and says almost nothing about himself. He's read every book on the shelf, yet hasn't read the history – no, that's not a contradiction, that's a good way to save himself from dire boredom. I've got to do the stock order sheets now. Talk about dire boredom._

* * *

Vash soon fell into the rhythm of working days, and helping around the house at night. Sam ran the place with frugal efficiency. He only saw Joseph, Sam's father, once. He had visited the saloon and had found the man where he had first met him. He bought the man another drink and handed over the envelope full of money Sam had given him to pay off his father's tab.

"I'll need another eighty on top of this." The bar keep said after rapidly counting it. Vash nodded and the bar keep seemed to have an agreement with Sam, as he nodded in reply and turned away.

"How's the job going?" Joseph asked, blinking at him.

"Well. You've got a good young man running the place."

"Me son." He belched beerily and frowned at Vash. "How's 'bout you buy your employer a beer, eh?"

Vash smiled and bought two beers.

"I was looking at the books in your home, where did you get the history book?"

"Oh, that was Lacy's, me wife. She was the book learned one. Taught school here. Yez was right when ya said I should quit procrastinating, and I did, right after you left town. She smacked me for asking her so late, and then said yes." He laughed then grew sombre. "Such pretty auburn hair."

.

Vash was used to the early morning routine, and he and Sam took alternate days to be at the store to take deliveries at dawn. He was glad he was not working for the newspaper printers, they started at four. Then more deliveries would come at ten when the various suppliers had managed to load the tomas carts or trucks and deliver stuff. But the major deliveries happened on a Friday. The power plant some five iles away, would send the village deliveries through on that day. It was very busy, as the general store was the major delivery place and pick up point. Both he and Sam worked a Friday from five in the morning till seven in the evening.

In retrospect, Friday would have to be the day. Vash felt he should have seen it coming, but he hadn't expected it from the second delivery truck of the day, his third Friday working at the store. He pulled open the doors of the back yard and the truck had driven in as usual. He'd pushed the doors closed and it was the sound of the release of a safety catch that warned him. He'd been ducking by the time the gun went off, but that was not enough. There was a solid crack as bullets thudded into the gate. He'd darted to the side but the bullets grazed the soles of his boots and one stung him across the back of the thigh. He returned fire as he stumbled, disarming the most trigger happy of the bunch, a man in the delivery uniform who was trying his damndest to kill him with a constant fire from a semi automatic. He heard a panicked yell from inside and Sam, the young fool that he was, came running out with his father's old shotgun. It worked, Vash had found it while doing stock take and had checked it over, but right now, that was not a good thing. It was an old hunting and defence shotgun, modified to deter sandworms. It wouldn't just kill a man, it would splatter his innards all over the next ile.

"Sam! _No!_ " He yelled, but too late.

Sam fired the first shot, and Vash was ever grateful that the boy was as panicked as he was. The shot went over the men's heads. The recoil tumbled the boy back into the shop. Vash took out two more of the gang as Sam got to his feet.

"Sam! No!" He yelled again, and pushed the gun to the side, firing as the robbers tried to gain the upper hand and shoot them again. He hastily changed out a round and took down another. That was six. Were there six? He'd counted eight. Where were the others? He ducked and shot at a man who had sneaked behind the tire, the gun spun away across the ground.

The truck suddenly roared into life and Vash tried to push Sam out of the way when they spun the truck towards the shop. Sam let fire the second round. It took out the two front tires of the truck horse and most of the axel. The truck tilted over and the men piled off.

"Go on, go inside." Vash tried to push the boy back.

As he did so, a shot caught him across the head. The next thing he knew was Sam crouched over him with his own revolver held out in front of him with both hands.

"You touch that gun and I'll shoot you deader than dead!"

Vash struggled to his feet and collapsed again as his legs simply refused to hold him. Sam fired his gun and Vash forced himself upright and clung to the doorframe, staring in horror.

"That's right! Stay right where you are."

Vash blinked dazedly at the robbers who were crowded at the gate with their hands in the air. To his astonishment, there were no dead bodies. There were plenty of bleeding ones though.

"Er, John." Sam muttered with his voice rising in panic. "What do we do now?"

"We'll take over from here, sonny."

Vash ducked to the side as several men in Federal uniform walked from within the shop. The robbers tried to break the gate down. Sam twitched the revolver and Vash clamped his hand over the boy's.

"Steady." He murmured. "I think our thieves are in for a nasty surprise."

The robbers managed all two feet of their escape into a posse of waiting men.

"John!" Sam hissed, gaping at him in horror. "You're not gonna die?"

"Huh?" Vash blinked at him, then caught his reflection in the glass. His face and hair were drenched in blood, and his shirt and trousers weren't much better. He grinned sheepishly.

"I-I'll be fine. You really saved me back there. But next time, perhaps not the shotgun, eh?"

They watched as the Feds arrested the men.

They both gave statements; Vash insisted he could give his before going to the hospital. It was not too bad, he had a graze on his thigh, which only needed two stitches, and the head wound, though it bled profusely, only needed a bandage. Sam breathed out a sigh of relief as Vash walked out, now clad in fresh clothing, and grinned at him.

"See, not so bad."

Sam nodded, and his smile got stuck on his face.

"What's wrong with your hand?"

Vash glanced down, he hadn't replaced the leather glove as it was still crusted with blood, and the nurse had been kind enough to clean the prosthetic for him.

"Nothing, good as new." He flexed it. He quite enjoyed how Sam's eyes widened.

"It's a prosthetic."

"Yep." Vash grinned. "C'mon let's get home. We can go past the cake shop and get us something sweet for the shock."

* * *

 _Today was a strange day. John was gone when I woke up. I was summoned to the kitchen by the smell of bacon and eggs, that smell would wake the dead. John must have been up really early to make all that before I woke. Only when I arrived there were only two plates set there. My father sat before one, and the other was at my usual place. John's place was empty. It was surreal. My father sat paging through a history book. The one John had so enjoyed while here. I sat down, too bewildered at my father's presence at the table to even begin to be astonished at his reading a book. He hadn't looked at any book since mother had died. My father did not speak, but instead opened to a particular page and slid the book across the table to where I sat. I ate the bacon first, it was too mouth-wateringly delicious to ignore. Then I looked at the page. On it, hand drawn by my mother, was a sketch of a man who looked almost exactly like John. Right down to the prosthetic arm. I choked on on bacon as I read her handwriting below the drawing "Vash the Stampede"._

 _My father gave a kind of strange grimace and said, "I owe him your life twice now. First for introducing me to your mother, and now for this incident at the store. He said to give you this."_

 _I just stared at him. I mean, my father had known that he was Vash the Stampede and had said nothing? I took the small notebook he handed me then. It was just like the ones we used in the store for stock take. I have it here beside me now at the counter. I keep it tucked in at the back of this diary. It's mine and as secret as this journal. It says: "The Fall, by Vash the Stampede." It is just five pages of John's beautiful hand writing, but what the words say are heart breaking. And eerie. I don't know how to think about it, except my father seemed to think it accurate and true. John concluded the book with this sentence: "For you who loved history, and wanted to know the heart of it. Thank you for helping me. VtS." My father told me not to show anyone the book, and I agreed, some secrets need to stay secret._

 _I can't believe how different my father is today. Not only did he actually talk about my mother, which he never does, but we had had an entire conversation without yelling. John is sure an amazing guy. I think as strange as today is, it might even be a good day._


	13. Chapter 13: (V,W,Me,Mi) Hot Springs

**Hot Springs**

(Spoilers from Trigun Maximum 1)

 _A/N: For a friend who had to wait. Hope this tides you over._

Meryl sighed blissfully as she sank into the warm waters of the hot springs. The night air was cold, the waters steamed making the dimly lit outdoor pool beautiful. New Miami was the best place for a holiday. No insurance claims that she had to resolve. No paperwork to mail back to the office. Then, best of all, no Vash the Stampede. New Miami Mountain Springs was a resort where swimming or soaking was the main event. She knew what Vash had to hide. He would never dare venture out here. She smiled as Milly walked into the pool area with a large towel around herself.

"Miss Meryl!"  
Meryl felt her mood evaporate at the slight catch in her voice.  
"What now?" She regretted telling Karin at the office where they were. She had once returned paperwork to them with the instruction to do it properly. What was waiting for them now?  
However, what if it was something more serious? She suddenly felt anxious. Before leaving on holiday they had fought off a man who had tried to kill Vash.  
"What is it?"  
Milly knelt down.  
"Uh Miss Meryl..."  
Milly's tone indicated she could not speak in public.  
With sincere regret, Meryl climbed out of the water. Wrapped in a towel she hurried after Milly to the hall that led to the change rooms.  
"There is trouble!" Milly's voice trembled.  
It was as if speaking summoned it. A large explosion shook the air. Then it began raining double dollar bills. Meryl stared dumbfounded until she remembered that the resort had a casino. Damn her luck was bad! At least Vash had nothing to do with it.  
"Hurry!" Milly cried anxiously.  
"That's for the Fed's to deal with."  
"But Miss Meryl, Vash... "  
"What!" She shrieked. "He can't be here!"  
"But Mister Priest said... "  
"Argh, is Wolfwood here too!" Meryl shrieked in fury. "Why are they here? We are on holiday!"  
"I don't think we told them we were." Milky said sincerely. "They just came here on their own. Mister Priest did say something about seeing Saint Annie. He was very devout when he said it. She must be very religious."  
Meryl ground her teeth. Saint Annie was the lead singer of the Saloon girls dance troupe. Of course the men were there. Just wait till she landed her hands on Vash the Stampede. He would regret it so badly.  
"I am on holiday." Meryl stated as she turned back to the pool.  
"But Miss Meryl..."  
Meryl wove her way through the people catching the double dollar bills. The folk of Gunsmoke were industriously gathering the money so the pool was empty. Meryl left her towel and slipped in and went to soak on the far side where the ferns hung over the water. They hid her nicely. It took several moments of deep breathing for calm so settle. Aah peace.

"He went this way!"  
Meryl froze as the casino guards stomped into the pool area pushing their way between people scrambling for money. At the back of the group was Wolfwood trying to look nonchalant while frantically searching. He found Milly and the two of them went into a private huddle. Meryl scowled as Wolfwood drew Milly off.  
There was a shout and frantic splashing on the far side of the pool. By the amount of yelling, they had caught someone. Meryl leaned out to peer around the plants and froze. Not more than _fiel_ away, mostly hidden by the leafy plants, a pair of green eyes gazed at her from under a mop of blond hair.  
Meryl drew breath to scream but Vash clamped his hand over her mouth.  
"Not now! Not now!" He hissed in desperation.  
She clawed his hand away as he pulled her deeper into the plants.  
"He had an accomplice!" A guard declared. "A man in a red coat."  
Meryl went still and gazed questioningly at Vash. He was sitting in the pool divested of said coat and body armour. He shook his head fiercely. His wet hair splattering droplets of cold water across her face.  
"There is someone in the bushes!"  
Meryl caught her panic mirrored in Vash's eyes. Then she saw the change as he steeled himself up to distract the hunters. Dreading the chaos that would cause Meryl did the first thing that came to mind. She grabbed his head and kissed him. Vash jerked backwards in shock, pushing her away, his eyes wide.  
"Work with me!" Meryl hissed.  
"This is work?" Vash said stupidly but did not pull away when Meryl nuzzled up to whisper in his ear. She felt an electric shiver as her cheek grazed his chin stubble.  
"What were you doing in the casino?" Her voice wobbled slightly.  
"N-nothing." Vash murmured then drew her face close but didn't quite kiss her.  
"Act better than that. They're here."  
He put his arm around her and drew her over his chest as a cover. Meryl froze in panic. She had not expected him to be able to touch both her shoulder blades with one hand. Nor the strangely silky sensation of his skin against hers.  
Then irrationally she was infuriated as he drew her in close but did not kiss her.  
It was then that she realised he was sitting in the water with only his briefs for modesty. She flung her arms around his neck and managed to touch his lips with hers as he threw back his prosthetic arm to catch his balance.  
"Aha! Er..." An embarrassed voice interrupted them.  
Meryl grabbed Vash by the hair and kissed him.  
A tingling shiver ran down her back as he curled his fingers through her hair. All she was aware of was that he easily covered the back of her head with his hand.  
"Uh, I don't think they even know what's going on." One of the guard's complained enviously.  
There was silence. Meryl couldn't risk a peek. Ooh the lengths she would go not to work on her holiday! Vash, she realised, was holding his breath. He was beginning to go crosseyed. Irritated, she nipped his lip. He flinched then glared at her with outrage. His hand tightened in her hair and he kissed her, his eyes daring her to do her worst. She kissed him back, refusing to let him have the lead. Her small hands wandered down his shoulders. She shamelessly ran her fingers across his scars there. She had always wondered what the scars felt like. Much like the rest of his silky skin though strangely corrugated where the wound had stretched.

It was then that she realised she wanted to keep kissing him. She froze. She dropped her gaze as her ears burned red. She discovered a delectable view of his stomach muscles, tensed to support them both. He was fitter than she recalled. The only coherent thought in her head then was "more." The last vestiges of her self-preservation recalled that that sort of thought around Vash the Stampede always brought disaster.  
"Spikey!" Wolfwoods hushed whisper sounded on the far side of the plants.  
She blinked and leaned back sharply. He easily released her.  
She caught his gaze and he hers. A silent agreement never to speak of this passed between them.  
"Oi Vash, Milly found us a way out... oh!"  
Wolfwood's expression summed up exactly how compromising a position they were in. Meryl glared aloofly at him while she pushed away to float off Vash's lap. She almost punched him when he touched her hip to help her.  
He then silently slid out of the water. She bit back a gasp of awe and dismay. Despite his scars, he moved with the lithe grace and rippling muscles of a dancer. Yet across his back was a mass of purple bruises from what looked like several rounds of rubber bullets. She was so relieved she had not hugged him. She felt her face flame red as he reached back before he stood and petted her head once in thanks. Then he and Wolfwood were gone.

Milly found her sitting with her head resting on the pool edge.  
"Mister Priest had to leave."  
"Mmh."  
"Mister Vash went with him."  
"Mmh."  
"Are you alright Miss Meryl? Did that bad man frighten you?"  
Meryl sighed. No. She frightened herself. How was her mind able to replay the most recent memories so clearly?  
"We still have a week before we have to go chase Mister Vash. You will feel better by then."  
Meryl nodded. Oh, she would, but not for Milly's reason.


	14. Chapter 14: (V,W,Me,Mi) Canteen

**Canteen**

"Meryl screwed the last canteen open and took a long draw of water.  
She thrust the canteen away and Vash caught it as she coughed and choked.  
"Don't drink so fast!" Wolfwood scolded.  
Vash took a gulp and blinked.  
Milly took it off him. She took a sip, and frowned at the bottle.  
Wolfwood snatched it and threw back the last of it.  
He gulped it down and hissed.  
"Who the hell put straight vodka in the water canteen!"


	15. Chapter 15: (V,W,Me,Mi) Dime Novel

**Dime Novel**

The saloon was rather quiet. Meryl was sitting with Milly in the corner comparing notes. They had been working on them solidly all afternoon. Their table gathered glasses that were then cleared by the staff, then gathered more. Milly ordered supper and they continued working. Vash avoided them. He did not want 'Vash the Stampede scratched his nose' in the report simply because he had done that in front of them while they were typing. From the amount of giggling going on he was going to have to steal that page and retype it himself. He disliked typewriters, his fingers got stuck in the keys when he tried to type at a comfortable speed. He was feeling a rather comfortable buzz as he detoured past their table when Milly went off to fetch another round of drinks. The saloon had filled up and there was a queue at the bar as the two bar keepers filled orders. He set his beer down at the table and peered at the pile of papers.

"This is not for Vash the Stampede." Meryl pushed his face away from her typewriter.

"It is about me!" He protested pointing to the name on the page.

"But it is not about you!" She declared. "It's about getting stuck in the desert."

"I never got stuck in the desert."

"Ya did." Meryl slurred slightly and leaned on the table to look him rather too closely in the face. "You fell in that sinking sand pit and we had to wait a whole night and day for you to stop frightening us thinking you were dead and we cried about it and were all drunk about it and then you appeared and we were all happy again."

Vash took a gulp of air on her behalf. She was rather drunk.

"I watched you in the desert." She raised her chin and gave him a stubborn lavender eyed stare. "You walk with that wriggle in your step when you listen to your music. Milly tried doing it last night and Wolfwood fell over laughing." She smiled and tried to rest her chin on her hand, but missed. She sat back with a frown of concentration and looked at her hand.

"Is a nice wriggle." She said with a stern look at her hand.

Vash took a sip of beer, it was rather hot in the room for some reason.

"And the way you move your head. You have a nice neck, but you hide it behind that big collar of yours. I have to guess by the way you move your head."

Vash clenched his hand around the handle of his beer mug as Meryl managed to land an unsteady hand on his neck. He was dressed in a shirt and trousers at that point in time and suddenly missed his red coat. If nothing else, the blush he felt sneaking up his cheeks would be more easily hidden.

She trailed her fingers down the side of his neck and he ducked his chin as it tickled. He then noticed Milly navigating her way back from the bar.

He snatched Meryl's hand away and put it back on the typewriter.

"I'm sure you're very busy with reports!" He exclaimed and gulped the last of his beer. "I need a refill."

"Milly, Vash is running away!" Meryl protested.

Milly seated herself as Vash grabbed his glass and headed across the saloon where Wolfwood was playing a game of poker that involved much aggrieved staring at his cards.

"We can catch him later Miss Meryl. What is this you have written?" There was silence and Milly stared at the paper, then at Vash and down at the paper again.

"Miss Meryl, I think it is time for bed." She said rather decisively.

* * *

Later that evening Vash sneaked into Meryl's room and found the stack of paper on her desk. He snatched it all and hurried out into the passage outside. Wolfwood leaned over his shoulder as they looked through the latest report. Wolfwood snickered.

"She gets really creative with her spelling when drunk."

"And her reporting! This is an entire page about you doing the Vash waddle, what is the Vash waddle?"

Wolfwood snorted and proceeded to mimic Vash bopping to his music collection as he walked. Vash glared at him and turned to the next page and forgot Wolfwood was looking his shoulder.

"He wiped his brow in the golden evening sunlight. A single drop of sweat coursed down his neck as he gazed mournfully at the endless desert sands. He shifted his coat…" Vash trailed off and Wolfwood gave a snort of laughter. Vash gave an inarticulate cry and held the page away so Wolfwood could no longer read it, but he had caught enough lines.

"…his shirt stuck to his body as if drenched with water…" He snickered.

"What is this?" Vash demanded in horror, desperately skimming the pages.

"Seedy dime novel." Wolfwood snickered. "Guess we've discovered what Meryl does in her spare time."

"Naw. She's just drunk." Vash said dismissively.

* * *

 _Six months later:_

Wolfwood looked far too pleased with himself. Vash peered over his shoulder to see him holding a slim book. Its cover was a picture of a lady with rather excellent bosoms standing too close to a man who had forgotten to wear a shirt. In the desert.

"He's going to get sunburned. Wolfwood what is that?" Vash asked, knowing the answer, but hoping to discover the why without asking directly.

"… his shirt stuck to his body…"

Vash gave an inarticulate squawk and snatched the book from him.

"It's a dime novel about me!" He breathed in horror.

"A dime novel about you written by Meryl." Wolfwood grinned wolfishly at him.

"It says Miss Melodrama wrote this."

Wolfwood gave him a look then shrugged.

"There are plenty about you on the news stand in the café." He pointed out.

"What?" Vash exclaimed and Wolfwood took his book back and continued to snicker his way through it.

Vash, in the mean time, gazed in horror at the stack of dime novels on the shelf. At least half were about a red coated lone gunman. Of those, three were by Miss Melodrama. Flustered, he bought them all. Back at the boarding house he managed only a few pages of each before cringingly throwing them in the bin. Wolfwood dug them out and regaled them all with quotes for the next month. Though he kept looking, Vash noticed that Miss Melodrama never wrote another book.


End file.
